soulful eyes?”
“How would I know? I’m a guy.”
“But he’s your wingman.”
“Guess you could call him that.”
“Is he secretly in love with me?”
“Oh, yeah. You know the type. Guy’s always moping around, just hoping to get a glimpse of you. I guess he still thinks he has a shot.”
“He doesn’t. Even though you don’t really appreciate me the way you should, and your sidekick …” Tess fished around and came up with: “Marshal.”
“Marshal?”
“Marshal.”
“You sure?”
“That’s his name.”
“I would have named him Ned, but okay.
“It’s true—poor Marshal and I spend most of our downtime together.”
“Meanwhile,” Max said, “I go on my merry way, doing my own thing, not knowing that every day in every way I’m—”
“Breaking my heart?”
Silence.
Tess wished she hadn’t said that.
Max said: “
“No, not really. Could be I’m already beginning to forget you.”
“Forget me? How is such a thing possible? I’m the leading man.”
“I have the tabloids so at least I can remember what you look like.”
There was another pause. He said, “I can fly out. Next week, it would have to be quick. Overnight—or you could come here.”
Tess thought about Bonny, new here as undersheriff. Bringing her to Santa Cruz County with him. She was his right hand. And there would be Danny’s merciless teasing. Razzed unmercifully about the “movie star.” She wouldn’t mind being razzed. She wanted so badly to see Max right now, this minute, but Tess also knew she had to concentrate on this case. She’d be gone long hours. She only had a limited window of opportunity on Hanley—the longer without a break there was, the more unlikely the case would ever be solved. Still, Max would be here.
Tess said, “You can’t really get away, can you? You’re on a schedule.”
“I could call it an emergency.”
“You know you can’t do that.”
He sighed. She knew he was thinking there was no getting away from responsibility. So many people depended on him. And she couldn’t go there.
And yet the physical yearning was almost unbearable.
He said, “When can you come out here?”
“Not now.”
Quiet for a moment. “We can plan for something later. We’re both too busy.”
“Yes.”
“But it doesn’t mean this won’t work out,” he added.
“No.” She remembered how thin and pale he’d been in the hospital after the shooting. Max Conroy, star of stage and screen, kidnapped and held for ransom in her county. In Bonny’s county.
And Tess had ended up in the middle of a deadly romantic triangle, trying to help a displaced movie star on the run from kidnappers and a scheming wife who would have been happy to play the part of a grieving widow.
Max had been damaged. Badly. But he had survived, and somehow they had ended up together.
Except he lived in California and she lived here, on the border between Arizona and Mexico and loneliness.
Tess remembered waiting for the paramedics. She remembered the blood. She didn’t know for sure, but she’d thought that he had died. When she was alone with him for those few frantic seconds, as she tried to compress the wound.
Maybe he hadn’t died. But he had been slipping away. Max heard her voice, and she still felt that this was what made the difference. She knew he believed it, too.
Sometimes she wondered if he loved her at all—or if he just felt he owed her.
He said, “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” She wanted to add that it was an almost physical pain.
They talked for a while and covered the waterfront—her case, his TV series, even beautiful Suri. Tess could tell from his voice that she was just what she always knew the woman was: his costar.
No worries.
But when she put the phone down, she was aware of the ache. It was the ache of a woman whose husband is gone, his side of the bed empty.
When her cell rang a moment later, Tess answered, “What did you forget?”
But it wasn’t Max. “Is this Detective McCrae?”
She recognized the voice—it belonged to Steve Barkman, the guy who’d accosted her in Credo. “How did you get my number?”
His mother was a powerful judge, but Tess suspected it was somebody with Pima County Sheriff’s—a noncommissioned employee with a high degree of suck-uppiness.
“I figured you’re home for the day.”
Tess tried not to be creeped out. “What do you want, Mr. Barkman?”
“Just wanted to talk about the Hanley case.”
“I don’t talk about my cases.”
“Wait! Could we meet? I need to know about the shooting. I heard he was shot multiple times. Can you confirm that?”
“I’m not telling you anything pertaining to this investigation. I am going to hang up now.”
“Listen, just give me verification.”
Tess had second thoughts about hanging up. “What’s your interest in this, Mr. Barkman?”
“I’m a concerned citizen.”
Tess said, “Mr. Barkman, do you know anything about this?”
“You’re not accusing me of anything, are you? Because you don’t have a leg to stand on if you’re trying to pull that intimidation shit.”
Defensive. Angry. But underneath, she sensed he was gloating. Tess thought he knew more than he was giving away, and she guessed he wanted to show her that he was important, that he knew details about the investigation.
“Mr. Barkman, I didn’t mean to come off sounding like that. I’m just curious if you have some inside knowledge about this that might be able to help us out.”
“I might be willing to trade.”
“Trade?”
“I’d want all the information you have on the case.”
“I can’t do that, Mr. Barkman. You’re working for the sheriff’s office in Pima County. You ought to know that I can’t tell you anything. But if you have information that could help us you could—”
“If you’re not going to wash my hand, I’m not washing yours. You’ll regret this, but that’s your choice.”
And he hung up.
Tess stared at the phone. She’d memorized his number from the readout, punched in his number. Got his voice mail.
